Bitter Pledge (Falsone Crime Family)

“Say it again.” I stared into his eyes and grabbed his hair. I held it tight. “Say it again, Mal.”

He knew what I wanted. “You filthy fucking girl.” He slid his fingers deeper, driving me wild with waves and waves of pleasure. “You’re all mine now, Cap. You’re all mine, and I’m all yours. We’re in this together. Fucked up together. And I’ll make you feel good until it’s over. You dirty girl. You filthy girl. Be good for me, Cap. Be real good for me.”

“God, yes,” I moaned, head thrown back. He kissed my neck, and worked my pussy, and I grabbed his hair so hard I thought I might rip it out, and I didn’t care. Mal, god, Mal, my glorious man, so strong, big, incredible, his fingers rubbing my clit, fucking my pussy, doing something to me I’d only ever dreamed of.

“Come for me, filthy girl.”

I came in a wave. In a torrent. It overflowed me and made every muscle spasm. Pleasure ripped along my body and my mouth opened, but nothing came out. I blinked rapidly as I came to myself, and Mal was there, big and beautiful.

“Good girl,” he whispered and kissed me.

I kissed him back. Deep and slow. We held it there for a while as he slipped his fingers back out of my panties. My ruined, worthless panties.

I’d never been touched like that before. Never, not once. I didn’t know how amazing it could feel. Carmine never touched me like that.

And as quickly as it left, the guilt and shame flooded back.

Mal licked his finger. Sucked it clean. Kissed me again and I tasted myself on his tongue. It was heaven and filthy.

His filthy girl. I loved it.

My cheeks were burning. “I really need to leave. I’m sorry.” I pushed out of the booth.

Mal watched me go with those big, beautiful eyes. I saw the hurt in them and a glimmer of the same shame I felt. I knew he missed Carmine, and whatever was happening between us only made it worse. I wondered if I should stop it, at least until we were finished.

But I couldn’t. Just like he couldn’t.

“Find him for me.” A command. Not a question.

“Yes, sir.” I gave him a quick smile.

He grinned back.

“Goodnight, Cap.”

“Goodnight, Mal.”

I hurried away from the booth, body buzzing with post-orgasm haze, confusion whirling in my brain. Six four eight five.

Chapter 15

Capri

The house was still as I crept out of my room around two in the morning. I was wired, buzzing with energy, while at the same time teetering on the edge of exhaustion. It was that weird, liminal space, right before you completely shut down.

I closed my eyes as I crouched down in the dark hallway and listened to the house.

Nothing. Dead silence. Dad was on another business trip to Dallas. Probably negotiating with the Russians over my dowry or something like that. I wondered what Maxim was doing and what he thought of all this—when we spoke, it seemed like he wasn’t interested in following through, especially after I ran away from him and almost lost my mind.

Fortunately, I covered it up. I made myself puke in a corner outside and said I’d eaten something bad and was too embarrassed to say anything. My dad accepted it, and everyone else seemed to go along with my story, except for Maxim. He looked at me like he saw through my lies, even when he kissed my hand and wished me better health.

It didn’t matter now. I crept forward, toward the back steps, and went down. The light over the prep station was on in the kitchen, but the cook wasn’t there. I released a long breath and kept going, past the burner and the packages of food ready for cleaning and chopping, and paused in the hallways.

Stillness. The house was like a crypt.

I was terrified, but I pushed on. I thought about Mal, and the way he looked at me in the Lowdown, and the feeling of his hand between my legs, and those eyes, burning with desire and anger and so much more. I came for him, and when he called me his good girl, it lit my spine up like a Christmas tree.

I’d never been touched like that before. Never been talked to that way. Carmine was always too formal and respectful, and never once got close to crossing the line.

Mal wasn’t formal, and he wasn’t respectful. He was filthy, and he made it clear what he wanted.

It drove me wild, knowing he was out there somewhere, thinking about me.

I reached Dad’s office and went inside. It was cold and empty. I switched on a light over his desk and stood in the middle of the room, looking around.

This was the hard part.

The problem was, I had no clue where Dad kept most of his information. He wasn’t a computer guy, so breaking into his laptop would’ve been worthless. But he also didn’t keep his notes and ledgers anywhere visible. There were no papers in his desk, no notebooks lined up on his bookshelf, nothing like that. I began to comb through his things anyway, shaking out old history volumes on the Civil War and the Napoleonic era, stuff I was sure he’d never read but looked nice. I rifled through the drawers and was unsurprised to come up empty.